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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479225">the moon glows/the river flows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBeltanesPast/pseuds/GhostofBeltanesPast'>GhostofBeltanesPast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Grief, Makeshift gravesite, Mourning, Whump, in which my tag game is still terrible</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:15:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28479225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostofBeltanesPast/pseuds/GhostofBeltanesPast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader takes a moment in a quiet corner of Lestallum to mourn their lost lover, three years into the Long Darkness.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nyx Ulric/Reader (past)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the moon glows/the river flows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You close your eyes, imagining the warmth of lips pressed tenderly to the side of your head; the air burns your nose and lungs as you suck in a breath like you were drowning. He’s not here, and you ache for him, for his touch. Desperate to feel him, his hands on you -- anything, skin on skin, even his breath puffing against you the way it did when you laid in bed together on warm, lazy mornings -- you need him, whatever you can have.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Of course, what you can have is memory. Or, rather...memory is </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can have.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The sobs start as a sort of hiccuping cough. They take you by surprise, almost, deepening rapidly into gasping heaves for air, and you can only clutch at your chest and ride the wave of emotion, the yearning burning through your throat and stinging behind your closed eyelids.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It’s been three years; you don’t even dare go to the ruined city, can’t even go see the last places you have memories of him in. You can’t see if there’s anything left.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Perhaps it’s kinder that way.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The agony of memory as you curl in on yourself, head bowed toward your knees, is already too much. How much worse would it be to go and see that nothing is left, to have even memory marred by the cruel reality?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It’s better not to taint the one thing you have left.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Everything of yours was in your apartment -- you’d been in the field, cataloguing specimens, when it happened. You had only the barest necessities with you, and damn you for not thinking to bring a keepsake of some kind. Any kind.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>You’d been so sure it would be fine. He’d laughed and kissed your head and told you it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>; you’d believed him, damn you, and damn him, and damn you again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>To this day, you’re not sure if he knew he was lying to you at the time -- you hate that you’re not sure whether you would have been able to tell.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It’s not a proper gravesite, but you tend it anyway, the loose paver you purloined from out front of the city and painted green, tucked into the corner of a little alley on the east side of Lestallum. No one really comes back here, and they certainly don’t disturb the little green paver and whatever trinkets you leave beside it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There are only a few now who would even be able to guess what it means -- or who it’s for -- and you don’t see them often. It hurts too much; you have so little to say to each other, and nothing will stop the ache of missing him when it sears into you once again. There’s no point in hurting yourself more...and they’re busy anyway, which makes you feel at least a little better about avoiding them.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Nothing will bring him back. Nothing will make this okay again, and you’re reminded of it constantly. The darkened sky, the daemon attacks, the grim determination and exhaustion so many wear every day -- every day, you are reminded of him. How bright his grin was, when you think of the frightened child down the street and how he would have teased a smile out of them, even if it was tear-filled. How he comforted others, a steady, safe presence whenever someone was uneasy. How gentle he was when someone was hurt, how thoughtful as he always looked for ways to help, how ready he was to give whatever someone needed…</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The floodgates of memory open, and you press a hand to your own mouth to stifle the keening wails between sobs. You cannot seem to stay silent, and you cannot allow yourself to be heard.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Give him back, you want to scream. Give him </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you would demand of the Astrals -- and you have. The Astrals, the Lucii; you would fight anyone and anything, would stake yourself, would sacrifice everything on Eos, if it meant he was alive and well again. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do, and you hate yourself a little bit for it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He would never accept a trade like that. There have been times when that was the only thing that stopped you from trying. You’ve considered going to the former Empire, digging through whatever remnants of their technology you could find; you’d make a deal with anyone, at this point, damn the consequences.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But the Empire is just as dead as your lover, a bit of wordplay that makes you grin miserably between the gut-wrenching sobs that leave you shuddering as you lean against the brick of the building beside you to keep from collapsing entirely.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There is nothing.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No hope, nothing left to you. He is dead, and you will never have him back, and every day you know that the only thing you can do is continue, as miserable as you are, because to die before you have to would mean hurting him and you cannot allow that -- no matter how desperate you are to be with him again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>You swear, sometimes, you can almost hear him speaking to you...but even that has been taken from you, really. You don’t recall what he sounded like, and gods damn you for not getting your busted phone fixed before going out for that wildlife survey.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>You’ll sit like this for an hour or two, maybe, before staggering back home...and you’ll repeat the process next month, maybe, or next week. Maybe a few months, although it almost never takes that long for you to need to return to the one place you can be with him, in some way.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But you’ll keep living, because you can’t let him down any more. You couldn’t give him the life he deserved, couldn’t bring him peace from the guilt that haunted him every step, never had a chance to make a home with him, but you can do this.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>You can do what he would wish, and help others as best you can. Do the work he isn’t able to anymore.</span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And it will have to be enough.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is taken from the song "Without You" from RENT.</p><p>PF chapter 9 is in the works, don't worry. :) I just needed to get this out of my system; fic is a coping mechanism, and sometimes we gotta write sad stuff to work out the grief.</p><p>I hope y'all had/are having safe and happy winter holidays. Let's keep hanging in there. &lt;3</p><p>[please note that this is NOT a part of the PF continuity, which is absolutely an Everybody Lives AU, unlike this fic which largely adheres to movie canon]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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